


Most Ardently

by yikesola



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 1810s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Attempted Blackmail, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Period-Typical Homophobia, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesola/pseuds/yikesola
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good humour, must be plagued by Daniel Howell.A fic about first impressions and shifting fears.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 68
Kudos: 123
Collections: Phandom Reverse Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [phandomreversebang](http://phandomreversebang.tumblr.com), based off of [et-in-cinerem-reverteris](http://et-in-cinerem-reverteris.tumblr.com) beautiful [artwork](http://et-in-cinerem-reverteris.tumblr.com/post/190650100484/good-evening-everybody-here-is-my-art-for-this.tumblr.com), and betaed by the immensely patient [geewobbles](http://geewobbles.tumblr.com). Also, tremendous thanks to fellow Janeite [calvinahobbes ](http://calvinahobbes.tumblr.com) for all the necessary hand-holding!

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good humour, must be plagued by Daniel Howell. 

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that Philip Lester had even been warned about Daniel’s black moods before the two ever met. 

By the time they had been acquainted for six months and shifted their locations from the countryside, where they both resided, to the diversions of London, they were suitably familiar with each other and the different ways to get under one another’s skin. This, they did often: they bickered, bantered, teased. Occasionally, they bitterly fought. A night would not pass where they were in one another’s company without some level of a verbal sparring match, looking forward to it almost like sport. 

*

Tonight’s ball is a public assembly. Phil mightn’t have bothered going at all, only he had heard tell that Dan would not be attending the private Graftin ball. He was unwilling to bet Dan would go the whole night through without a drink and a dance. Which means it is likely he will be at the public assembly. 

And so, Phil will be as well. 

He dresses without much worry. He had only brought things he would be comfortable in to London, too afraid of a major faux pas to risk bringing anything questionable along with him. He glances at his hair in the mirror before leaving. It is fine. He looks fine. Yet for some inexplicable reason, his hands shake. 

His carriage seems a rougher ride than usual. Or maybe it is his stomach, which never travels well. 

Or maybe he still feels some guilt he is unwilling to admit to. Guilt over what he had said to Dan at their most recent quarrel. Over what he had said when he allowed his pride to swell and react with jabs that wounded too deeply, he fears. Which, he tells himself and almost believes, is why he is so concerned with seeing Dan tonight. 

He is too buried in his own head when he arrives, nearly stepping into a puddle as he exits the carriage, and nearly stumbling while trying to avoid it. There is a huff of laughter and an arm on his shoulder as a result. Phil looks up to see a face, the one which is never out of his thoughts for long, beside him. 

“Careful, now,” Dan says errantly, his grip on Phil’s shoulder steadying. 

“Evening, Mr. Howell,” Phil says, shaking him off. Any guilt he’d felt before over speaking too harshly about Dan’s indifference to his family is washed away by the echoes of that laughter. He feels the burn of a blush across his face and wishes he’d never come at all, and he has not even set foot inside the building. “Bit early for you, isn’t it? The sun has hardly set.” 

Dan’s habits are well established by this point in the season. A late arrival, after any fussy announcements will have been made or any meals served. An early exit, before any commitments for accompaniment could be obtained or the champagne bottles empty. Phil arrives early, before the crowd has had time to swell and choke him, and leaves just as early, before it has had time to shrink again which would draw the focus to him. Somewhere in those middle hours, his and Dan’s paths will cross.

Though tonight, Dan stands before him and they enter the assembly side by side, with a cracking tension in the space between them, as Phil continues to feel he ought to apologize and utterly refuses to do so. 

“I’m a man of many surprises, Mr. Lester, don’t let your prejudice stand in the way,” Dan tells him with a mocking, crooked grin. 

“You often surprise me, for better or for worse,” Phil says. He hopes that his tone is safely neutral. He then spies the back of a person’s head a few steps away, someone he recognizes. This is his chance to slip away to get a hold of himself after figuratively, and quite literally, losing his footing so early in the night. Before Dan has the chance to answer him, he smiles and greets the fellow partygoers loudly, stepping away. 

He doesn’t see Dan again for nearly an hour. By that point, he has had some wine, and by the flush of Dan’s cheeks, Phil assumes he has as well. Or perhaps the flush is from the dance. Phil had kept away from the dance floor on this specific night, but he had noticed Dan taking a turn with Miss Elliot and twice with Miss Thompson. Perhaps, too, it is a trick of the candlelight. 

They are standing in a darker corner of the assembly hall, both seeking a little quiet it seems. Only to be interrupted by each other. 

Phil clears his throat. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Howell,” he starts. “Yesterday, I was unfair. I cannot know your family as you do, and should not lecture you on how to speak of them in public.” 

There is a dimple denting Dan’s face, but in the low light Phil cannot tell if it is the result of a smile or a smirk. Dan drinks from the cup in his hand. “You oughtn’t lecture me at all. About anything.” 

Phil frowns. “No. I oughtn’t. You are right.” 

“You’re older, wealthier, more educated than I am,” Dan takes another, deeper drink. “Oh, Mr. Lester, I well understand your urge to lecture me. To cure all of my faults until I’m something akin to a decent human being.”

“I never—”

“—No, you never,” Dan cuts him off with a laugh. It is a sharp laugh that slices at Phil. “You never mean harm, you never _do_ harm.” He sets his drink on a nearby sideboard. “Apology accepted, Mr. Lester. Enjoy your evening. I have an engagement.” He steps away while Phil watches his curled head, standing taller than most in the crowd, walk through them to the exit. 

*

Phil too leaves the ball shortly thereafter. There is little there to interest him, now that he has made the apology he meant to. Having done so, he should now be feeling better, surely. The twist of guilt in his stomach should have been untwisted by now. 

He gave the apology. It was accepted.

It was grudgingly accepted— it was accepted in word alone. 

But, Phil tells himself, he has done all he can. He rattles in his carriage on his way back to his rented home here in London and that phrase just repeats over and over in his head— he has done all he can. He has tried to befriend Dan, he has tried to understand Dan, he has tried to understand, to ignore or transform the feeling in the palm of his hands he gets when he’s near Dan. And he can do nothing more. 

His head aches; he is tired in a bone-deep way, from the city and the frustrations gnawing at his soul. He tells the housekeeper as soon as he enters his home to make preparations for his return to Hertfordshire. Immediately. By morning, if at all possible. And later the next day, if not. 

He tires of London and its diversions. He tires of polite society and its refusal to speak plainly. He is tired.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up to the bustle of city noises remains something Dan is unused to about London. Even after all these weeks. He’s so accustomed to the quietness of home, to waking to the birds outside his window and not the clamour he is hearing now. 

The city’s endless, cacophonous noises are unkind on his head. So was last night’s wine… and gin… and ale. That is another difference between home and here— he did not drink so regularly under his parent’s watchful eye. Not because they were temperate folk, they drank as well, but Dan has never enjoyed being drunk among other drunks. He prefers the singularity of being the only one in the room who can feel so ready for a spiral. 

It is not a habit he intends to keep up. In fact, every morning that he wakes up with a splitting headache and the sound of carriages pulled by clomping horses on the street below and yelling passersby, is a morning he swears to himself he will not touch a drop again. 

This conviction generally lasts until the next time he’s faced with a social gathering he has no interest in attending were it not for a pair of fine eyes. He cannot bear the thought of a ball without a little libation. And he cannot bear the thought of not going to the ball at all, if Phil is there. 

He rolls over onto his side and groans. His head is no better in this position, but that was not the cause of the groan. 

It is only in these vulnerable, half-asleep and half-conscious moments that he can admit as much: he suffers London society for the sake of Phil. Because he must see Phil. 

Even if Phil hates him. 

Even if he should hate Phil. 

He followed him here, leaving Hertfordshire as soon as he had heard of Phil’s departure, spending money he didn’t have on rooms and clothes and calling cards. Drinking booze that left his head thumping and dancing with ladies he hardly remembered the names of, all for the few moments a night when he and Phil can bicker. 

And he doesn’t regret it. He thinks maybe he should. Yet men have committed greater sins for a pair of fine eyes…

*

Dan knew all too soon after their first meeting that he could not trust Philip Lester. He knew that Phil was a man who would not only blush upon hearing what Dan’s behaviour with other men consisted of, but also was a man who wouldn’t hesitate to make public Dan’s indiscretions, if only because it would make him look all the more proper. He would be keeping the local people safe from Dan’s hedonism, surely. As though Dan flaunted it— which simply couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, he knew the taste of alcohol and yes, he’s gambled when overconfident at cards or dice. That he will admit if asked. 

And yes, he has known men intimately. The gardener's son, the bricklayer’s boy. Whoever he recognized as someone like him. He has not spoken a word of those encounters aloud. 

Somehow there are still people that know. Dan cannot understand it, how they can know despite him trying so hard to hide his shame. But they can: they sense something in the way he carries himself, in the way his gaze lingers, or in the patterns of his speech. Phil recognized Dan for what he is. 

The memory of their first meeting is sharp in Dan’s brain, all these months later. They had met at a public assembly. Phil had only just moved to Hertfordshire and they stood gathered among many men following introductions. That night, gentlemen were scarce and there was more than one lady in want of a dance partner. 

Men, whom Dan simply had known for far too long, took the opportunity to spit venom. 

“No need to rush for a partner, Mr. Lester,” they teased. “Mr. Howell won’t be competition for you.” 

“You’re in greater danger of him asking you to dance himself,” they laughed. 

Phil straightened his poor posture; he looked only at the floor. “I do not dance, not if I can help it.” He avoided eye contact with Dan the rest of the night. 

*

There is something off about the room. It could be that all the women are wearing white, or that the food is too rich and Dan knows his stomach will not settle tonight. It could be, that despite being a private party in one of London’s finer townhomes, the place is full of unfamiliar faces. 

That is it, Dan realises. Too many unfamiliar faces, and the distinct lack of one familiar face, one which is normally always at the evening’s event before he is. 

He scans the room, but all the heads are about the same height. There is no slouching man trying to hide himself. There is no clear-bell laughter he realises, now that it is missing, he is always listening for. 

One of the strange faces approaches. It’s a nice face if not a little like his own, Dan thinks. Only Dan would never wear a red militia coat; he had long ago committed himself only to a monochrome wardrobe. 

“Evening, Mr. Howell,” the man says, holding out his hand. 

Dan shakes it, introduces himself, and attempts a smile. Once the man speaks, memories flood back to Dan— he does in fact know him and that strikes Dan. It makes him wonder how he had gotten so drunk so quickly. But he knows the man well from the previous season when the militia was stationed in Hertfordshire. 

Officer Charles Casey smiles freely, as he always does. Dan remembers that being something that first drew him in. He is an interesting man as well as a man who seems to know more than he tells, and Dan with his rambling mouth for everything save the most terrifying of secrets, can appreciate that skill in others. 

It did not hurt that they bonded over a mutual distrust of Philip Lester, which made up the greater part of their early discussions. 

This was all, of course, before Dan began to soften for Phil. He hadn’t seen Charles in all the time since. It surprises him how differently he feels about him now, so much so to have forgotten all about him until he spoke. 

“Have you just arrived in town?” Dan asks him, wondering what had kept him away, and if he would find himself so thoroughly distracted by Phil had Officer Casey been in town all the while.

“Yes,” Charles says. “I could have come a few days earlier, but I heard our mutual displeasure was lurking about,” He grins conspiringly at this, but Dan does not join in. “News that he’d left late last night told me I wouldn’t be bored stiff trying to meet his standards, so I decided to rent a room and enjoy some of the season.” 

Dan tries to steady his voice, but it shakes anyways. “Phil is gone?” He looks around the room as though he didn’t already know Phil was nowhere to be found, as though he hasn’t spent all evening looking for him, as though everyone in the room had not already discerned that. 

“Yes, and good riddance,” Charles laughs. 

“I… did not know he’d left,” Dan says, more to his drink than to Charles. 

“I told you what happened between him and I, yes?” 

“Only that you attended Cambridge together,” Dan shrugs, “And that he was much the same then as he is now.” 

“Much the same,” Charles nods. “Always desperately concerned for his reputation. For propriety. Even when he himself has human transgressions. And well, you know I’m not a man to gossip.” 

Dan laughs, as gossip is all he’s ever known Charles to do. Gossiping, chattering, slandering, all the while keeping all his truths close to his chest. 

Charles goes on, despite Dan’s laughter, “I tried to make him a deal once, as term was coming to an end. I’m not a wealthy man, my education was paid for by the old Mr. Lester, in fact, as a kindness to my father. We do what we can to earn some coin, too keep up with those whose coattails we grasp at, and there were no pretty girls about with a recently deceased and wealthy uncle,” They both laughed at this. Dan admits to himself that he is not fully immune to Charles’s charm. “I offered him a simple deal, my silence for a decent wage. He seemed to think that was more scandalous than what we’d gotten up to behind closed doors.” 

Dan lets the words soak into him. He tries to understand the reality of everything Charles is casually laying at his feet. “Did you keep your silence?” he asks. He knows the words are cold; he speaks them with the chill that has run through his body.

Charles looks to the floor rather than at Dan. There is a biting chuckle and a smirk when his head rises. “Powerful families are quite persuasive.” 

As quickly as he had been falling prey to it, Dan is free from the binds of Charles’s charm. Here he stands, instead, feeling raw and foolish and exposed even though he has said hardly anything tonight. He says a clumsy goodbye and makes his way towards the exit, needing fresh air before he faints. 

*

Dan hires a coach with the last of his meagre coin which will be leaving that very night. He wants to be in Hertfordshire as soon as possible, and he wants the journey to be solitary where he can sort out his many jumbled thoughts. 

He feels that his vision is, for the first time, clear. He feels that the man he assumed Phil Lester to be and the man he knows him to be are so different; one might as well be a caricature of the other. To go from spending months believing Phil hated men like him, to understanding that Phil and he are the same. This is a new type of drunk. Dan has never known this feeling before. Until this moment, he never knew himself—

Despite the rattling of the carriage on the muddy late-summer roads, Dan pulls from his case a book, for a hard surface, a quill and ink, and paper. It is a rough draft; he shall write a cleaner version when home at his desk. 

For now, he writes the thoughts that need to escape from his head before he bursts. Thoughts of apology and accepted apology and a desire for understanding. Thoughts that he boils down to, “ _You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you._ ” 

Once the words are written on the page, Dan’s heart is in his throat reading them over. Love. Yes. 

He loves Phil Lester.


	3. Chapter 3

The countryside certainly has less diversion. Phil intended this when he left London. He wanted to rest, he wanted to have no curly-haired, dimple-faced distractions. Which means as he sits in his parlour before an unnecessary fire considering the warmth of the night, Phil is understandably frustrated by the fact that all he can think about is Dan. What gathering Dan might have attended today. Who Dan might have danced with. Those large, warm hands he knows only from having shaken them, wrapped around some woman’s waist… 

There is a knock on the door that interrupts Phil’s thoughts. A servant enters with a silver tray, and a sealed envelope atop it. Phil takes the letter, thanks the man, and holds it in his hands. 

He does not think he can properly focus right now to read the letter, but stands anyway and tears it open. He reads it by his open window, letting the moonlight pour over the words he has to read several times to make sure he has read them correctly. 

_“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,”_ he reads again, and again. The words run through his mind, they race before his eyes. The signature at the bottom hardly seems real. Phil sits down while he still can as his legs begin to shake. 

*

He travels by horseback from his estate to Dan’s. He wants to be there as swiftly as possible, and to draw as little attention as he can. The letter seems to burn like hot coals in his coat’s breast pocket. The night air rushing past his face helps him feel more aware, more like himself. It reminds him of why he’s riding— because he needs answers, needs to see Dan, needs to know if Dan meant what he wrote. 

He has never actually been to the Howell’s estate since his move to Hertfordshire. He is surprised that it feels so starkly impersonal when he approaches; his large estates always felt so impersonal that he had assumed smaller houses bred homey familiarity. 

There is much about Dan’s home and family which Phil had assumed, he realises. And maybe all of them had been just as incorrect. 

A maid answers his knock. He apologizes for the late hour but insists on speaking to Daniel Howell. He hopes to God that the rest of the family will remain asleep. For once, Phil’s luck holds. Dan, and only Dan thankfully, appears in the doorway. He is still dressed and does not look as though he was ever sleeping. 

“Mr. Lester,” Dan says with insufferable formality. Phil cannot infer a single thing from his tone. “Care for a walk in the garden?” 

Phil nods, words failing him. 

They are silent as they make their way. Phil looks straight ahead, not at Dan and not even at his feet. He thinks he feels Dan’s eyes on him. When they pass under the ivy arch, Dan clears his throat. 

“I assume you received my letter,” Dan says. His voice is quieter than Phil has ever heard it. 

“I did,” Phil says. 

“If you…” he clears his throat again, “do not return those feelings, we need never speak of this again.” 

Phil stops walking and clasps his own shaking hands. “There is too— I have much to… I _want_ ,” he tries. The words will not come; the sentences will not form. The moonlight is too bright: everything feels too raw and exposed out here. He makes his way towards the shelter of the surrounding brick walls. He can hear Dan follow him. 

“Do you hate me?” Dan asks. 

“No,” Phil says. This he can say, clearly, assuredly. Dan steps closer than he had been when they were not so sheltered by the night’s shadows. 

“Do you love me?” 

Phil nods. He is not sure if Dan can see him do so in the dim light. He whispers earnestly, “Yes.” In the next instant he feels Dan’s lips on his. 

*

It has been so long since Phil knew this, the feel of another man’s kiss. It has been so long since he allowed himself to sigh into it and have another man move to taste him. 

Dan is almost frantic in his eagerness. Phil wonders how many of his previous encounters had been rushed, risky, ungentle. But he brings his hand to Dan’s cheek and Dan leans into it so softly that Phil thinks they could both be gentle with each other and it would be wonderful. 

The brick is hard against his back where Dan has pressed him. The leaves and grass and twigs rustle under their feet. Phil tugs at the ties of Dan’s cravat, freeing the pale skin below so he can dip his head and trail his lips along the column of Dan’s neck. He is rewarded with sweet, breathy sighs and the feel of Dan’s fingers threading through his hair. 

He brings his lips back up to Dan’s. He wants to taste more of him. He wants to breathe him in. He feels Dan untucking his shirt from his trousers. He tries to make his own hands do the same work on Dan but he is so distracted by the need to feel Dan’s curls, Dan’s shoulders, Dan’s broad back, Dan’s everything. 

It’s when Dan gets a hand into Phil’s trousers that Phil abandons any idea for slow, calculated, gentle. A visceral need takes over. 

He shoves his own hand into Dan’s trousers and begins the work of tugging them just low enough to free his length. He moves to kiss Dan’s neck again. He takes great gasping breaths. He reaches a climax where Dan’s name spills from his lips in the same moment he spills over Dan’s hand. Soon Dan too spills onto the lawn. They wipe their hands on the grass and right their clothes and do not speak. 

*

The nerves are overwhelming after. Phil leans against the brick wall once more and his brain buzzes with many different worries, some of which must be written over his face because Dan frowns. 

“Was that…?” He does not finish the question. 

“You will not love me once you know me,” Phil says, the terror finally voicing itself. 

Dan makes a sound so close to laughter that it rings absurdly in Phil’s panicked ears. “I love you the more I know you,” he says. 

Phil wants to hold those words close and precious, wants to believe they will be true. He knows, though, that men have gone from loving him to hating him before. He knows that it could very well happen with Dan. He knows Dan would be right to hate him when he knows everything. 

“Can we go inside?” he asks. Dan nods and lifts a hand to Phil’s cheek. He holds it there a moment before dropping his arm to his side. They make their way to the house as silent as they had left it. 

*

The parlour Dan leads him to is stuffy. The fireplace looks barren; the windows are shut tight. They are in the easternmost corner of the house, and Phil suspects that means they are the furthest away from eavesdroppers as they can manage. Dan lights several candles. The room feels less intimidating the more it is lit. He sits in one of the wingback chairs by the empty fireplace while Dan sits in one beside him. 

“You have a great personal evil to confess to me?” Dan says, a crooked smile on his face. Phil wants to jest with him, but his stomach is too twisted. Instead, he nods. 

“Your friend,” Phil says, remembering how often he saw them in each other’s company when first he moved to the area, “Officer Casey.” 

“No friend of mine,” Dan shakes his head. 

This startles Phil. Startles and surprises him. Now he is worried over how much Dan already knows. “No?” he says. 

“No,” Dan shakes his head again. “Not once I learned of his, er, financial priorities.” 

Now Phil fears the worst. That because he had not revealed Charles for what he was all those years ago, Dan too has fallen prey to his threats and blackmail. 

Thankfully, Dan goes on, “I could be friend to no man who treated you so cruelly.” He reaches and clasps Phil’s hand in his. 

“I am just as cruel,” Phil insists. “He may have threatened, but I returned the threats. I reminded him who people were more likely to believe, wealthy me or social-climbing him. I warned that I could argue to anyone he tried to reveal me to, that he brought his advances and that I was unwilling, if I needed to, and that I would be believed.” 

Dan frowns. “Did you? Did you ever do more than threaten?” 

“No,” Phil says. “My silence for his. As well as an agreement that he keep his distance.” He stands, tries to open a window for some needed fresh air. When it creaks, he freezes. His panic has not left him, but the house remains quiet and he breathes the night air. “However, me threatening to tell lies and him threatening to tell the truth… you may have been teasing, but it is a great personal evil.” 

He is afraid to face Dan. Afraid that he has already lost that which he only just gained. Afraid that their frantic, heated moment in the garden will be all they’ll ever share.


	4. Chapter 4

Dan hears the chime of the old grandfather clock sound in the night. It is the only sound he hears; well that, and his beating heart. 

Phil stands with his back to him. Dan wishes so badly that he would turn around. Even in the dim candlelight, he craves that elusive blue stare. Dan rises from his seat, reaches for Phil’s hand. He kisses the open palm. Phil turns to face him. 

“You were being threatened,” Dan says. “You acted to defend yourself. I think I would have behaved much worse than you.” It is true in most things, and he has come to believe it. Phil has high standards because he can meet them. Dan has been swerving from any standard ever set to him and by now, it is nothing short of exhausting.

Phil does not look like he believes him. He also looks like he very much wants to believe him. Or maybe Dan merely thinks so. 

“Perhaps,” he allows. Although he does not pull his hand from Dan’s hold, he will not meet Dan’s eye. 

There is silence. A great silence. Again Dan hears the clock, and he does not understand how fifteen minutes has passed. His throat is tight when next he speaks. “It does not change my feelings.” 

The tension in Phil’s shoulders drops at that, like a puppet’s strings have all been snipped. 

“You say that now,” Phil shrugs. 

Dan squeezes his hand ever tighter. “I will keep saying it.” 

He leans forward and kisses Phil. This is not the kiss they had earlier under the moonlight— frantic and urgent and wild and hungry. This is slow, a question they both keep answering. This is tenderness, or something quite like it.

Phil leans his forehead against Dan’s. Dan is suddenly afraid to open his eyes. Is this love? Sudden fear forever, and in between such jubilant highs? 

When he does open his eyes, Phil is smiling. He is smiling in a way Dan recognises: the relief of a man who did not believe he could know this much joy. He feels the same smile carving dimples in his own cheeks. He leans forward for another kiss. 

The clock chimes again. He does not understand how the time slips away so. A few more chimes and it will be morning. A few more chimes and his family will rise. It terrifies him. He knows so much of what he is feeling right now will have to be buried in front of them— in front of all the world. And he is not quite sure he will be able to bury them. It all feels too big, too altering, too ardent. 

*

Dan watches Phil ride away into the horizon towards the rising sun. He watches him unblinkingly, afraid that the moment he does close his eyes will be the moment Phil slips entirely out of view.

There is no plan. Not yet. Not one that reaches out into the years and different bends in the road that make up a life. Right now, the closest they have to a plan is the invitation in Dan’s hand which grows crumpled as he tenses. It is an invitation to dine at Phil’s estate. Dan watched Phil pen it with shaky hands. 

He does need some sleep, even if he cannot imagine actually waking up rested. He leaves the invitation in the hall and makes his way back to his bedroom. He will answer the hopefully minimal questions from his family when he chooses to wake, likely well past morning. 

*

The last time Dan found himself at Phil’s large, newly rented and frankly ostentatious estate was for a ball towards the end of November. Nothing about the house and grounds has changed. Everything about Dan and his conception of Phil has. 

This time he arrives alone, and is the only expected guest. And this time, he has one distinct fear. 

It occurred to him just before he fell asleep. It was, at first, a fear he had for himself: that he would not feel the same when he awoke. That the fear would overtake everything. That without the benefit of moonlight, candlelight, or pure witching hour madness, he would come to his senses and want to forget about Phil entirely. 

That, of course, did not happen. Instead the fear has shifted to Phil. The fear that a sobering horseback ride in the morning dew will be enough to make all of Dan’s many flaws apparent. That the constant tension that necessary secrecy breeds will be too much by light of day. 

He sits in a parlour that one of Phil’s servants led him too, and the fear is almost overwhelming. He can hardly see his feet as he stares at them and can feel sweat form between his shoulder blades. 

Too many hours have passed. 

Too many hours to start to think rationally. With Phil’s income, there are plenty of pretty girls who would make a suitable wife. Plenty of girls without Dan’s sullenness, without his argumentativeness, without his… gender. The heaviness of being a man who fancies men has never had this sting before. Dan always felt it in a self-loathing, societal, _something is inherently wrong_ sort of way. 

This is different. He is mourning a future he and Phil can never have. Not without inherent risk. Not without concessions. 

His vision is blurred now, not from nerves but from a burning set of tears he allows to fall. He wipes them away quickly, before Phil can arrive and see. His heart thumps too heavily in his chest. Everything seems to occur around him in chunks, in segments… in heartbeats. 

Phil appears in the doorway just as Dan’s hands return to his lap. They both stand. They both smile, their nerves palpable. Phil closes the door behind him. Dan is too nervous to speak. 

“I have done a lot of thinking,” Phil begins, a shaky verve in his voice. “I am due for some travel.” 

Dan refrains from pointing out Phil had only just travelled to London. He cannot say anything, as Phil’s phrasing alone implies to him what Phil wants is to separate himself from Dan. 

When he does not receive a response, Phil continues. “I should like to tour the continent. At a leisurely pace. Perhaps for the next year or so.” 

Dan clears his throat, “I am sure you will see some beautiful places.” 

Phil steps closer. He is still very far away, but it is something. “I would hate to see them alone. I think I ought to have a companion to travel with,” he says, stepping even closer. “Don’t you?” 

The relief floods through Dan’s entire body. A few more tears appear. He laughs, unable to contain it. “Where to first?” he asks. 

Instead of an answer, Phil steps closer once more. He is finally close enough to kiss. Dan’s tears are transferred in the embrace to Phil’s cheeks; either that, or Phil is crying a few relieved tears of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading— come say hi on [tumblr](http://yikesola.tumblr.com/post/610967081496805376/most-ardently) !


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